The Keridiath
by brilliantwaffles
Summary: Basically a poem a la Beowulf, but with Andalites! Anyway, please take a look, and don't forget to RR.
1. Introduction

I'm writing this because I've always wanted to do a freeverse poem in the style of _Beowulf_, which is one of the oldest _human_ sagas. So I decided I would explore a little bit of Andalite culture and expand on their myths and legends and do an _Andalite_ saga. The Andalites mention fairytales and legends only a few times in the book series, unfortunately. I'm also writing this because I have a crapload of essays and I don't want to do them . Enjoy! And I don't own Animorphs, KA does.

**The Keridiath**

_( One of the oldest Andalite folk tales in existence, dating to approximately 218,000 BCE. To our knowledge, this story has its roots in an actual encounter with a beast we are now more familiar with called a Keriatyh, which, of course is now extinct like many of the larger planetary predators. In reference to actual names, herds, and locales, modern scientists and folklorists have found that they are in fact The Hajant Mountains, which rise an astonishing 67,000 lhs above Eleuperan sea level. These mountains are well known for their pink snow capped peaks, and boast deep grassland valleys and a spectacular array of both plant and animal life. _

_As for the whereabouts of the herd of Valath, historians consider the Great Waste as their inherent homelands, since the Hajant range flanks this hot, uninhabited plain to the east. The story itself had never been written down until_ _recently. It is more known as an oral tale in the earliest traditions. In modern times, a resurfacing of its popularity had rendered many artistic and dramatic endeavours of which much of Andalite culture is acutely aware of in one form or another. This translation is from the original Archaic Andalite, and it is now replicated in its original form for you and your family to enjoy.)_

Across the plains, the winds follow them.

Their hearts are stained, no peace within.

Heads are held high and blades dipped close to their backs

Breezes through the trees sigh, and their black hooves do not falter.

This is the story of Antil-Hedren-Dahar and his herd

Who travel through realms of danger and slay the Great Kerid;

Antil is a leader, a warrior, a thinker, a slayer.

Antil is also a pale one with fur of water blue

Antil is one who's hearts are always true.

And what of Antil's greatest deed?

How does he come to slay the horrid, Great Kerid?

Antil is the son of Brehin,

A leader of the mountain herds, those that think with profoundest words.

The mountain people, as you know well

Are strong and bold; even the females have their legends told.


	2. Sondar's Sorrow

**Part One**_: **Sondar ol dunthyrih **_

The mountain people are on the verge of war

With their eternal foes, those of the Jo'ar.

The Jo'ar are stronger, fiercer than they

For they know that Jo'ar blood is staining the blades

Of those from the mountains.

The leader of the Jo'ar, named Valath

Knows of the great pains his people come through

While crossing the mountains to find greater pastures.

Valath has seen his land dry up, and no rain has fallen

For centuries passing.

But Brehin shall not allow the migration of Valath's starving people.

For these legendary pastures, overflowing with rich red grasses

Belong to his people, and to Brehin.

And no one shall run upon them but his people,

Until the stars shatter and the suns fall from the heavens.

Such is the vow that he has made unto them

And in life and in death, Brehin shall keep his vow.

The black skies so stained with blood and dispair

Over the heads of the proud Jo'ar turn even darker

With the shadow of a great and ominous foe

Even the therant trees quiver with unmistakeable fear

And their sibilant voices cry silently.

For the Great Kerid is here.

And do you think of the Jo'ar as panicking and scared,

With flanks heaving and tails tucked low to the palid soil,

Hearts beating with every breath drawn, every hoof scatt'ring

Parched green stone and lone hillock back to the dust whence it came?

Nay, my friend. You see what is never there for those of the Jo'ar.

They stand tall, tails whipping in the strong, stinking breath of the great mauve beast

But to little avail, the proud Jo'ar warriors fail to

Quell the hunger of the Great Kerid.

Many are made heroes, for much of their blood has broken the silent, dead sands.

May their spirits run upon the eternal starry fields, and those who come after remember.

And so it comes to pass that the Jo'ar are decimated by the Great Kerid

With only Sondar, son of Valath left alive, but wounded.

Not even half of his once great people have survived.

Sondar grieves for his many losses, as he makes his way through the terrible

Stench, the miasma of death and destruction.

He finds her dying, his life mate, beneath the silent, leafless trees.

A cry of dispair wells up to those blackened skies

As she speaks, then falters, the life fading from her stalk eyes.

(My love ... you must seek help and undo the wrongs that have

Stained the glory of our people.)

(How?) Sondar pleads, with a rush of sadness crushing his hearts,

(I cannot say. You must find it for yourself.)

She closes her eyes and ceases living.

Sondar stands alone, still as red stone

Always reliving and never forgiving

His people for whom he dishonoured

And the shame of his people so marred.

His knees buckle to the blackened ground.

And with an escaping groan

He feels himself dying from his wounds, both in body and in mind.

How the wind sighs over these two forms, caressing and blasting their fur,

As Sondar finds little will or reason to live, and so he dies.


End file.
